Weiss - Bike snob abroad: strange customs, incredible fiets, and the quest for cycling paradise

STRANGE CUSTOMS,
INCREDIBLE FIETS , AND
THE QUEST FOR CYCLING
PARADISE

Dedication

For my wife Sara and my son Elliott, my favorite companions
in traveling and in life.

Text copyright 2013 by Eben Weiss.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available.

ISBN: 978-1-4521-2413-1

Designed by Suzanne LaGasa

Illustrations by Shannon May

Typeset in Monod Brun and Sentinel

Chronicle Books, LLC

680 Second Street

San Francisco, California 94107

www.chroniclebooks.com

Where am I?

This is a game I like to play with myself sometimes. When I find myself in a remarkable situation or setting, I pretend I just woke up and have no idea how I got there. Or, I just imagine Im that guy from the movie Memento who had no short-term memory and basically had to tattoo little Post-It notes all over himself. Its funsort of my little way of savoring the moment. And Im playing it now.

So where am I?

Well, lets see: First of all, Im piloting a strange contraption. It is, more or less, a bicycle, though there is a great big wooden trough on the front of it with a clear plastic canopy over it. Okay, I must be riding a mobile greenhouse. This makes sense. Bike blogging is not exactly synonymous with job security, so it was only a matter of time before Id have to rent myself out as a door-to-door gardenia peddler. And theres only one place in the world where you can get a job as a bicycle gardener. So...

Im in Portland, Oregon.

But wait, I cant be in Portland! Last time I was in Portland I felt like I had to pee all the time and I mean all the timebecause of all the Stumptown coffee and craft beer. Seriously, I never didnt have to go to the bathroom. I happen to be very fond of Portland, but I also associate certain cities with certain smells, and the smell I associate with Portland is the way your pee smells after youve had a lot of coffee. So since I dont feel like I have to go to the bathroom right now, nor am I actually in the bathroom urinating, then I cant be in Portland.

And yeah, this is definitely not Portland, since even though Im in a city, and even though its very damp out, I dont see any mountains in the distance or anybody riding a tall bike while juggling.

Still, that doesnt account for the fact that Im riding in a city on a huge bike yet nobodys beeping at me. Nor does it explain why there are lots of other people around me on bikes yet none of them are wearing cycling-specific clothing of any kind. Its also definitely the present day, since like half the other cyclists are on cell phones. Its not Critical Mass, or a Tweed Ride, or a charity ride, or really any kind of theme ride whatsoever. There also arent any police. This makes no senseIve never seen this many bikes in one place at the same time without some kind of police presence.

Unless...

Im not in America at all!

Well, its a good theory, and it would certainly account for the fact a bunch of people are riding bikes at the same time even though its not a special occasion.

Anyway, its at this point that I encounter a little hump in the street, and as I crest it I realize that Im crossing over a pretty funky-looking canal dotted with houseboats. I also notice a sign on the side of a building confirming my suspicion that Im far from homeits a street name, and the street Im on is evidently called something like Niewenhusenvorbulgraght. Most telling, though, is that I finally peer into the canopy on the front of my rolling greenhouse, and I notice that what Im transporting isnt greenery at all. Its a young human child who just happens to be my son.

Now Ive got itIm in Amsterdam.

And this is why Im playing the gamebecause I want to savor this experience. Just as countless teens and twentysomethings have sat in Amsterdam coffee houses, stared at each other through clouds of marijuana smoke, and coughed out the words, I cant beleeeve were smoking weeed in like a baaar , I cant believe Im riding what amounts to a station wagon on wheels with my wife Sara just up the street and my son Elliott hanging out in his trough, and Im being treated like a human being and not a stray dog whos wandered out into the street or an #Occupy[Your City Here] protester about to be washed away with a fire hose.

This treatment is something I didnt even realize I wanted until just a few years agomostly because I was almost unable to conceive of it. I dont mean the rolling greenhouse specifically (well, actually its a bakfiets , but well come to that) so much as I mean the ability to take to the streets by bicycle free from harassment, fashion, politics, and pretense. See, in America, you ride for fitness, or you ride for thrills, or you ride to make a statement. But as a lifelong cyclist and a new father, Ive increasingly begun to realize the pleasure of riding a bike for no other reason than simply getting around. Ive dreamed of a place where doing that isnt considered alternative and doesnt automatically brand you as an outsider, or at least as different somehow. So I packed my family on a plane and we came to Amsterdam, and it turns out that the cycling paradise really does exist.

So now that I know where I am, lets see how I got here.

One of my favorite things about cycling is that, even though Ive been riding bikes for as long aswell, for as long as Ive been able to ride bikes, every few years or so it reveals some new dimension to me. It reminds me of a recurring dream I have, wherein I discover some exciting new room or wing in my home that I never realized was there. To me, thats what cycling is likeits a familiar house Ive lived in all my life, but every few years or so I open a door and realize Ive got something really cool in there like a Jacuzzi or a 70s-style shag rumpus room.

When I first learned how to ride a bike, the joy and the thrill was simply being able to ride the bike without falling over. I explored and savored the sensations of speed and balance. Soon, though, I realized that the bicycle was also something with the magical power to shrink my neighborhood, and that I could quickly get to my grandparents house or home in on the distant sound of the Mr. Softee truck. It was also the way I made my first friends, and bicycles were the means by which we undertook our neighborhood adventures.

Bicycles gave us our first brushes with danger and introduced us to the real worldthe one beyond toys and cartoons and the safety of our households, in which everything was under the control of our parents. Naturally a powerful tool such as a bicycle is highly coveted by nefarious forces, and we quickly learned how to thwart bike thieves. You kept your bike in your sights at all times. You never let a strange kid try it. When you saw two older kids on one bike it meant the passenger was about to jump off and give chase to take yours. We were even once ambushed by a unit of bike thieves with stockings on their heads who leaped out from behind the considerable cover afforded by a Gran Torino.